


Left Behind

by Oakwyrm



Category: Thrilling Intent (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Gen, How do you Scrappy?, Music, but not really?, he likes to be tall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-13 11:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9122293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oakwyrm/pseuds/Oakwyrm
Summary: It's hard to lose friends.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Short ??? fic about Scrappy and sadness because Jume just had to give me all of the ideas didn't she.

Scrappy was... a trying person to be around. People tended to think he didn't know that but he did. Very seldom did he actually let it bother him, though. People could like him, or they could not. It was up to them. He hadn't really ever met someone he _wanted_ to like him.

Well, that was until he has moved to the island. The other artists had kept to themselves a lot the first few days. He didn't actually remember who is was who suggested song night first. It might have been the nice old woman down the lane. Music was her strongest passion, after all. Though her tapestries were something to be admired.

Everyone had caught onto the idea. So once a week they started their own tradition of gathering in the village square once the sun had gone down and singing, or occasionally just talking. Sometimes all of them were there, sometimes just a few, but it was always fun.

Scrappy claimed no expertise in any instrument, the forge had always called more sweetly to him, but he did have a decent voice. If he closed his eyes now he could almost bring himself back to those nights, when the stars shone above them as the fire crackled, their voices rising with the sparks into the night air.

When he opened his eyes again he was back in one of the many empty houses, staring at a painting that would never be finished. A pallet and a few brushed lay scattered across the floor. The half finished portrait of a woman sat there in the soft light filtering through the window, her half-finished face giving the impression of a smile that would never come to be.

His hand tightened around the harp he had found leaning against the door frame. He hadn't know the original owner very well. All he could remember of them was a strong frame and a clap on the back that had send him tumbling. He now wished he'd talked to them more. Hindsight really was 20/20.

He didn't stay on the island long after that. Perhaps he would return one day, when it became more habitable and easier to go back, but at that moment he wanted very little to do with Alaran.

Somehow he found himself on the Shrouded Isles. He found himself drawn to a quiet corner of the islands. He seated himself on a stone and stared out over the water in the direction he thought his island might be. In his pack lay the harp, untouched since he'd first picked it up in the empty house with the unfinished painting.

On a whim he reached into his pack and pulled it out, tuning the strings to the best of his ability. He plucked at the stings experimentally, recalling in his minds eye one of the first song nights he'd attended. He tried to pick out the tune, his fingers uncertainly jumping from string to string, trying to recreate it.

“No, no, that's wrong,” he muttered to himself, starting over when he missed a note. He never got far, fumbling the tempo or the melody, or forgetting a passage momentarily. After a few minutes of this he hopped off the stone and stuffed the harp back in his pack with no little frustration.

“I have a friend who could help you learn to play,” a voice spoke from behind him, making him jump back onto the boulder and spin around to face whoever it was who was speaking. Clearly he had made the right decision in jumping to higher ground. The man before him was _tall_. Definitely taller than Scrappy himself. “Well, I think. I don't know if Markus knows the harp...” the tall man amended, looking thoughtful.

“Oh no need! I'll teach myself, won't take long,” Scrappy replied. He was lying, he'd never been good with instruments. It'd practically be a miracle if he managed to teach himself. But, of course, this stranger didn't need to know that.

He didn't seem to believe Scrappy's words in the least but he had the grace to move on without questioning him apart from a disbelieving look.

“My name is Xaven Skalbern II, but you may call me Scrappy!” he announced himself. The stranger's brow knit together in a frown.

“You the guy who slapped Markus and broke Ashe's sword?” he asked. Scrappy blinked, staring down at the stranger before vaulting over him and inspecting him from all angles. He lifted the large cape slightly, inspecting the material as he squinted up at the red hair.

“You don't seem familiar, must be another Xaven Skalbern II otherwise known as Scrappy,” he said, springing up once more and onto the rock again so he could remain taller than the stranger. He received another doubting look.

“No man I'm pre-etty sure that was you,” the stranger said. “I mean I wasn't there but I'm pretty sure there aren't two Xaven Skalbern IIs in the world.”

Scrappy shrugged.

“Can we truly be sure of anything in this world?” he asked.

“I, uh, I've never thought about that?” the stranger said. “I'm Kyr Fiore.” He added his own introduction almost as an afterthought.

**Author's Note:**

> Super fucking short and open-ended because I... don't know? How to ScrappS? HeLp?


End file.
